


method of kneeling

by sanxiu



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19790764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanxiu/pseuds/sanxiu
Summary: If there ever was an opportunity to savour, it’d be this.





	method of kneeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laireshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/gifts).



The stupider of the nearby demons have all exhausted themselves by the third week. There’s a prickling at the back of Dante’s neck for days after, but no matter which way he turns, he sees only the yawning stretch of infernal nothing to the false horizon, or the Qliphoth, or Vergil.

Figures they’d also attract the only things in all of the Netherworld with some sense, but Dante doesn’t half mind it. He’s impatient, but he’ll wait. Vergil’s an easy monotony he can sink into, anyway, in the meantime; a familiar flavour of brutality he doesn’t get bored with tasting.

* * *

When Dante finally reaches the stage where he’s been under long enough to lose his grasp on time, well. Tracking hours by the mars on Vergil’s skin before they heal was always intended to be a temporary filler, not a solution.

After a point, it stops mattering where the time’s gone, or if it’s even going at all. When Vergil lifts himself from the ground, hours or fucking days later, his hand grabs Dante’s knee to steal a moment of leverage, and Dante feels the point pass him by, his cares bleeding out beneath the press of his brother’s palm.

* * *

Just who is leading on their scorecard is a matter of who is asked. Dante knows it’s him, but even if it’s not, the rise he earns for the claim is worth the lie.

The world is Vergil’s stage, and he is loathe to be outshone, but it is less a tally between them and more a tit-for-tat; a ceaseless cycle from violator to victim and the endless expanse of in-between.

Dante is branded and bound by Vergil, skin to soul, and he twists the knife gladly every time to remind his brother that they are one and the same.

* * *

He has Vergil skewered through the chest when the idea comes to him.

“You should play dead.”

Vergil chokes, half on his blood and half on his tongue. 

“See if we can bait out some fresh blood,” Dante continues, casual.

“And why would I lower myself to that?" Vergil sneers. " _You_ play dead.”

Dante grins, all teeth. “Seems to me you’re down low enough already.” He twists the devil sword just for that bite of emphasis, and Vergil snarls, seething, as more of his ribs splinter and snap, hand scrabbling down the blade.

“Fuck you,” he grits out.

“Suit yourself.”

* * *

Dante’s not immune to a little savouring, sometimes, when it comes to Vergil.

If there ever was an opportunity to savour, it’d be this: Vergil pinned between the ground and Dante, drunk on rage as he slits his hands down to the bone trying to haul himself up by the blade in his chest. It’s an ugly sight, Vergil convulsing and screaming beneath him, bloody spit smearing his chin, but fuck if Dante isn’t half hard by the time Vergil’s clawed his way to his knees, the hilt of the devil sword flush against the slick gape of his sternum.

* * *

Vergil shifts on his knees, and the arch of his back hitches him up the devil sword, until Dante’s fingers are snubbing at the rim of his wound. Blood wets them with each breath Vergil takes.

Dante tightens his grip. He knows he doesn’t need to: if Vergil wasn’t exactly where he wanted to be in this moment, he’d move on to the next. He’d slide up Dante’s arm until he met the hinge of his shoulder just to win.

Vergil looks up at him, the veneer of his composure flaking away, and Dante’s cock swells at the sight beneath.

* * *

His brother’s wet mouth around his cock is a whole new thrill to die for.

Dante cups the back of his nape and drags him down just to feel Vergil’s throat clutch against his shaft with a desperate choke, drool leaking from the seam of his lips. He lets go of the devil sword just so he can hook his thumb in Vergil’s bottom teeth, nail scratching at Vergil’s tongue as it flicks.

He feels Vergil bite; laughs when he gags on his own spit instead, teeth scraping helplessly along his length.

This, too, is violence. As it should be.

* * *

Dante spills down Vergil’s throat just as a demon screams its way into view.

By the time Dante empties a clip, Vergil has finished spitting his come out into the dirt. Dante meets his glare with a self-satisfied smile and fiddles with his belt buckle.

“Guess we got caught with our pants down.”

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Vergil’s on his feet in an instant, ramming Yamato through a demon’s mouth over Dante’s shoulder.

“You didn’t want to play dead as bait,” Dante says.

He completely deserves how Yamato splits his cheek open all the way when Vergil yanks it back.


End file.
